


whispers in the wind

by Molnija



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (peanutbuttergamer voice) memories ... and treasures ..., Character Study, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, a hefty dose of denial, felix is soft deep deep deep ... deep down, ingrid isn't there physically but she's there in spirit, it's more serious than i'm making it sound, kind of???, this was supposed to be so much shorter but somehow it just didn't want to end???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-26 21:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molnija/pseuds/Molnija
Summary: No matter how hard you try to forget, memories have a way of making their voices heard.





	whispers in the wind

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to I Have No Idea What I'm Doing, I'd say "hope you enjoy the ride" but that sounds like I have confidence and I can't promise that much
> 
> there's so many good ships in FE3H how did I end up with [gestures wildly] these idiots?? their dynamic is super interesting, especially if you add repressed romantic feelings to the mix. it has the potential to end up really painful or really productive, sometimes both, and as usual, the only type of childhood friends to lovers ships I like are the ones where not everything goes smoothly in their relationship ... well, apparently I like it enough that _this_ monstrosity came out of it. this is my second longest oneshot to date and frankly, I myself don't really know how it got this long NOR how it turned into a character study halfway through but it is what it is I suppose
> 
> there's a lot of little details I wrote in but decided to cut out as to not spell everything out immediately, so if you have interpretations, chances are that's exactly what I meant with it! or maybe not. but hey, that's valid too. this thing more or less wrote itself and I just tried to follow - meaning it's actually kinda edited, unlike most of what I write. it feels strange. I'm not used to it. this is saved as "please help.docx"
> 
> that aside ... I started a new playthrough for the express purpose of figuring out what kind of food Dimitri likes and dislikes, please appreciate the one (1) throwaway sentence in which that actually matters. also, I made a list so you don't have to go through the same thing. idk why you'd ever be in that situation, but just in case, [here you go](https://docs.google.com/document/d/127HYSCZMKXhzeopIlSN0kAXxseJQ4-LcIASBzsSS0oI/edit?usp=sharing)! in the end, that playthrough ended up doubling as general research, too, mostly in terms of speaking patterns (tho I'm playing in German so I only have the audio to go by hh) and the likes ... idk if I actually nailed it though ... forgive me if I didn't, working off multilingual works with occasionally very different translations of the original is sTRESSFUL
> 
> Leila is an old FEA OC, I just needed a character that had nothing to do with anything to ask uncomfortable questions so I thought I might as well have her cameo pff

In a cold winter night much like tonight, in a castle in the middle of Faerghus much like this one, thirteen years ago, Sylvain broke his arm falling out of a cupboard.

They’d snuck into the kitchen just past midnight, something about how even though the food in the castle was terrible, there were whispers going around about cookies being stored away there for special occasions, and all four of them were hungry. Even Ingrid had come along, after she’d reprimanded them for ten minutes for even bringing up the idea, interrupted only by her stomach growling and a rare admission of defeat. Dimitri brought up the possibility of the cookies being in a cupboard that was hard to reach, and Sylvain said to leave it to him. They should not have left it to him. Although it was somewhat impressive he even made it up there in the first place. In the end, though, all it earned them was Sylvain needing to see a healer and long lectures from the kitchen staff as well as Felix’s father.

Felix remembers because it was a stupid enough situation that you don’t really forget it. That, and Ingrid brings it up whenever she needs to describe how foolish their friend has been ever since he was a child. Back in the day, Felix used to join in with some more details, but he’s kind of tired of the story now.

Even so, now that he’s sitting here in the dining hall, his only company a candle, a hot cup of tea, and a battle report, he can’t help but think about it.

All four of them were there more by chance than anything. Their parents just all happened to be present at the council meetings held at the castle, and they’d brought them along. Glenn had come too, though he was mostly busy with something he refused to talk about. Long nights were spent between Ingrid and Felix wagering what it might be and coming up with increasingly ridiculous ideas, when Dimitri and Sylvain had long since fallen asleep.

They were in Felix’s room, because he was sharing it with Dimitri and apparently the prince got special treatment in terms of room size. Most of the time for the two weeks they ended up spending there, all four of them eventually fell asleep in that room anyway, though; Dimitri curled up on the bed, Sylvain in a strange-looking position on a chair, Ingrid sitting and leaning against the wall, Felix … Wherever. Sometimes he was awake enough to climb into bed too. Sometimes he just passed out on the floor, too exhausted from running around all day and their late-night conversations, a child making a playground of his father’s workspace.

Now, though, he’s the one who has to sit in meetings, Ingrid and Sylvain are busy in their own territories, and the training they do is for the sake of fighting battles, not for playing knight.

He’s been staring at this battle plan for an hour and he still doesn’t understand it.

Normally he’s better at focusing on his task, but nostalgia and bittersweet memories are one hell of a distraction. This isn’t even the same castle, and he doesn’t even enjoy looking back on those times. Still, his treacherous mind keeps on wandering.

After the nights when he made it back to bed, he’d wake up clinging to Dimitri more often than not. Unfortunately, being the last one to sleep usually meant being the last one to wake, and even though he kicks him not very gently every time he mentions it, Sylvain _still_ brings it up sometimes. Things like “looks like Dima doesn’t need to look for a future queen”, or overly suggestive glances that used to leave Felix flustered and Sylvain hit in the back of the head by Ingrid for being a bully. But those words don’t mean anything, haven’t for a while now.

Maybe someday they did. Not anymore.

He groans and buries his face in his hands. It doesn’t do anything to get rid of the memories.

“What are you doing?” he mutters to himself. “You should have finished reviewing this hours ago.”

“That sounds like something Ingrid would tell you.”

He sits up straight so abruptly he almost knocks the teacup over in the process.

Dimitri is right next to him, standing by the table. If he wasn’t relying only on candlelight, his huge stature would probably have thrown a shadow and alerted Felix of his presence – but really, he should have heard. Dimitri doesn’t quietly sneak up next to you. That just doesn’t _happen_. How distracted was he?

Embarrassing. Embarrassing and potentially deadly. If he spaces out like this when surrounded by enemies – which he could be at all times – he’ll end up with his head chopped off sooner rather than later. The thought that he could be this weak is almost … Disgusting. He’s disgusted with himself for letting this happen. It’s unlike him, above all.

“Ah,” Dimitri says, “did I scare you? That’s unlike you.”

_Shut up_, Felix wants to say.

“What are you doing here at this hour? Dedue’s going to kick your ass if you don’t get enough sleep,” is what he ends up saying.

“Dedue … Probably would not do that.” A moment of silence, minus the blood rushing in Felix’s ears. If he wasn’t on alert before, now he certainly is. Then, almost bashfully, Dimitri continues, “I was hungry.”

“What, and you were hoping to sneak into the kitchen like a child?” That’s almost as pathetic. It’s little relief, though.

“I thought there might be leftovers. And I did not think anyone was still here …”

Unbelievable. He never thought he’d say this, but ever since seeing Dimitri fumble around awkwardly with certain parts of being a king, with no real guidance to speak of unless you count whatever on earth the professor is telling him when they meet, he might prefer the wild boar act every so often.

Not that he’s one to talk about being bad at your job.

“Just go, then. I can’t tell you what to do,” he says and waves him off.

“That is true. By the way, just now …” Oh, he hates how he can tell what he wants to say from just the intonation of those words alone.

“Not a word,” he hisses.

Dimitri, of course, speaks anyway. “You cannot allow yourself to have your guard down like that. If I’d been an enemy—”

Felix shoots up from his seat, pulls out his knife from his belt, and has it at Dimitri’s throat in less than a second.

“I can handle myself,” he growls.

It’s all the more aggravating how Dimitri doesn’t move, or even utter a sound. They just stand there for a moment, Felix glaring at him with his blade gripped tightly enough that if it were Dimitri, the handle would have snapped in half by now, and his king looking down on him with a perfectly neutral expression. He could shove him, too, his free lower arm pressed against Dimitri’s chest like this – just push forward a little to send him stumbling backwards. Dimitri surely knows that, too. And yet, he doesn’t brace himself for impact.

_Not even a threat_, something in the back of his mind whispers.

He steps back slowly, eyes fixed on his supposed prey, but nothing changes.

Then, and he almost wonders if he’s dreaming, a small smile appears on Dimitri’s lips. “I know. If this had been any other situation, you would have killed the enemy by now. But just in case you’re too tired, you should—”

“I can decide myself if I’m too tired for anything.” His voice is quiet, each word sharp like his blade. “Now go.”

Dimitri’s smile falls and he steps away slowly. “Right.”

He bows his head in greeting quickly before he turns around and heads for the kitchen, and with every echoing step growing ever quieter, the rest of the world shifts back into vision, until Felix is painfully aware that he’s the one who let it fade away to begin with.

The dining hall feels bigger like this.

* * *

All of this is his own fault. Dimitri knows this.

He came here to get food, but that encounter with Felix was like a strong punch in the gut, and he isn’t hungry anymore at all. The only reason he left for the kitchen is because it was what he’d said.

Sitting down on a chair by one of the worktables, he sighs.

Every time he thinks his relationship with his old friend is improving, something happens. They’re nowhere near as antagonistic toward each other as they used to be, and on a good day they spend time together outside of work, perhaps even joking around a little; even so, being around him always feels like walking on eggshells. It used to be so much easier, before Duscur, before everything fell apart. Now, he cannot blame Felix, or anyone, for feeling on edge around him.

This kitchen is similar to the one they snuck into thirteen years ago.

It’s not the same one – that castle is a bit further down south – but he thinks he read somewhere that they were planned by the same architect, which would explain the similarities in structure he can’t help but notice all throughout the building. If it were that same castle, would it be easier to talk to Felix, just like in the old days, when their biggest worries were what Glenn was up to and how they got lectured by the adults for childish foolishness?

He doubts it, as much as he would like to believe. There is no place for that in their lives anymore.

His gaze shifts toward the cupboards involuntarily.

He’ll never forget the sound Sylvain made when he fell out of that one back then, trying and failing to grab the cookies on the way out – something between a scream and a confused “whoops”. At least they had been right about the food, though it wasn’t much of a comfort. Dimitri admired him for even trying, especially since he was the biggest and least dexterous one of them at the time. Ingrid or Felix might have succeeded. Dimitri himself … Not so much. Even as a child and with both eyes intact, he has always been rather clumsy.

Now that they’re older, nobody needs to climb anywhere. He can just stand up and take whatever he wants out from even the highest shelf.

Dimitri wonders if they have cookies in this one, too.

Normally he’d go for something more nutritious. Taste is irrelevant to him either way, so there’s not much need for eating anything that doesn’t serve more of a purpose than being delicious. A hot beverage is still nice, and there are certain things he prefers over others – such as the creaminess of melted cheese, or the way soft, yet firm meat feels when you bite into it – but in the end, he cannot enjoy food in the same way most other people can. Right now, though, he feels as though he can almost taste the cookies from back then, even though he never even got a chance to try them.

He stands up, careful to walk with soft steps despite nobody else being here, and opens every last door, but all he finds are tableware and seasoning.

Of course. It was strange enough that at the other castle they even had cookies. Maybe if Mercedes was here, this would look different, but she is not.

He’s not quite sure why he’s disappointed.

When he leaves the kitchen again, he’s careful to be quiet, but a glance at Felix still reveals his body stiffening as soon as Dimitri enters the dining hall.

He spares him no second glance upon leaving and wonders why he still feels the sting in his heart, poignant even after ten years have passed since that tragedy.

* * *

It’s cold in this part of Faerghus. Even colder than usual, that is.

Felix doesn’t _hate_ it, per se, even as he’s hurrying through the town to get his errands done as quickly as possible so he can take a break in some tavern and warm up. He’s used to it. But that still doesn’t mean he wouldn’t rather be somewhere warmer.

It’s harder to fight in this weather, too. With the snow slowing down everyone’s movement speed and essentially rendering cavalry units useless, it’s a pain to even get somewhere meaningful on the battlefield, and the thick and heavy clothing required to withstand the cold is tough to move around in. The gloves in particular; he has his sword with him, of course, but it’s annoying to wield it when you’re touching the world through layers of leather and lining. Not impossible, of course, he’s not some damn amateur and has probably fought with them more often than without them in recent memory. Just … Unpleasant. That’s not the appeal of fighting.

It’s bad enough they’re still stuck at that castle, he’d prefer not having to deal with this harsh winter on top of it. Fhirdiad is far from a home at this point in time, but at least it’s where he technically belongs now. This place just makes for a convenient meeting point, minus the part where whoever thought it was a good idea to hold a council here during the winter must be losing it.

At least this town is small enough to get back there in a relatively short amount of time.

Or, well, it would be if he could finally find a shop that sells the bows he was asked to buy. This kind of stuff isn’t usually something he’d have to do, and he doesn’t now, either, it just served as a convenient excuse to step outside for a while, even if the visibly overworked knight originally tasked with this sounded extremely confused as to why the king’s right-hand man (that still sounds weird to even think) of all people would take that off his hands.

Despite his … Conflicting feelings about the cold, it’s good to be away from that place full of unpleasant memories for a bit.

_You’re running away_, Ingrid scolds him in his head, yet another memory from their student days when she’d tell him the same thing every time he went out of his way to avoid his father. She always has been the reasonable one of them, and very adept at making him feel bad about himself, though he’d never admit that out loud.

Maybe it would be easier if Ingrid was here, or Sylvain. It’s something he’s been finding himself thinking a lot lately. If it’s the four of them, Dimitri included, the memories may hurt less.

He stops to look around, but by now he’s in a part of town where he’s pretty sure nobody’s going to sell him anything unless they have bad intentions. These houses look more like people live in them, each small, but all of them close together, so that most branching paths lead into dead ends or narrow alleyways, which probably also lead into dead ends. Yeah, he’s not finding those bows anytime soon. Even if it has a castle, this place definitely isn’t the kind where weapon merchants would find a lot of customers, so it looks like they don’t even bother.

In the end, he came all this way for nothing. How annoying.

Well, not _nothing_. He did accomplish his goal of not being trapped in those castle walls that remind him too much of a time he’d rather forget. Even so, standing here like this, it doesn’t feel right, either. It may be the cold, but …

He doesn’t think it’s the cold.

“Running away, huh?” he mutters to himself, testing out how the words sound to him more than anything.

Ingrid didn’t sound all that mad when she said it. More so, there was a hint of sadness in her voice. He knows because he understands the feeling all too well. In a perfect world, none of it would have been necessary.

But the world isn’t perfect, and they all know that. It’s a miracle he can even talk to Dimitri normally.

He turns around to head back to the castle.

* * *

Dimitri just happens to be by the main entrance, having just finished talking with a guard, when Felix returns.

The first thing he notices is that his hair is wet, snow melting into drops of water, and a quick glance outside until the door closes again reveals why – of course it’s snowing. He didn’t think to look out of the window, but it’s not too surprising.

Still, in this weather …

“Welcome back, Felix,” he says, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. Last night’s encounter in the dining hall seems like one of those that they sweep under the rug and pretend they didn’t happen, but it’s still on his mind – Felix’s knife on his throat, a threat he doesn’t fear him going through with, and his voice all the sharper. It felt almost familiar. Bittersweet. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t help a smile, last night, only to get reminded that that is not what they are anymore.

“I didn’t find the bows,” Felix replies in lieu of a greeting. “Don’t know why they even asked for that. The closest thing to a weapon shop around here is a mediocre swordsmith.”

“There’s no need to hurry with it, I suppose. Frankly, I’m not sure either why the armourer asked for it right now.” He pauses and Felix takes that as a sign to leave.

Right as he passes by him, Dimitri instinctively reaches for his wrist.

The glare he gets for that could have killed a man, and for a second he forgets what he was even about to say. With another look at his hair and the dark blush on his cheeks, coloured red by the cold, though, he quickly remembers. “Make sure you warm up properly. There is no conflict right now we would need you for, but we still cannot afford for you to get sick.”

“What are you babying me for? It’s not the first time I’ve been outside in the winter,” Felix says and pulls his hand away, but it’s lacking the usual edge.

“When we were children, you—”

“Disregarded the maid’s warnings to meet you outside in the freezing cold and came back with a flu that bound me to the bed for two weeks. I know. If it’s not you reminding me, it’s Sylvain.” He’s staring at the floor now, head turned away, but even if Dimitri could properly see his face, he thinks he would not be able to read his expression. Sometimes Felix is a mystery to him. Even though they grew up together – so much has happened that they might as well be different people entirely.

Although, if it was the Felix from back then, he’d probably pout and say that it won’t happen again, it was just a one-time thing, and that it shouldn’t stop them from playing together in the snow.

“All I want to say is that winter is not to be underestimated.”

When Felix looks at him again, he doesn’t even need to speak. His face says ‘no, really?’ more clearly than his words ever could.

Dimitri can’t help a small laugh. “I know, I know.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m taking a hot bath now,” he replies, and when he walks away, as usual without bothering to say goodbye, he thinks he sees the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

It may just be wishful thinking, though.

* * *

_Running away._

If he is, he’s not doing a good job of it.

It’s almost pathetic for how long Felix has been sitting in the bathtub now. The water doesn’t even feel hot anymore, though still pleasantly warm, and he really has no reason to not get up and go train or, heck, read a book or something.

But if he leaves now, he’ll definitely start thinking about it again.

Last night – and earlier – well, Dimitri has been looking out for everyone for a while now, but it’s aggravating if it’s for him. It’s too much like how things used to be. He catches himself slipping more often than he’d like to, whether it be into that fond feeling in his chest that reminds him of his childhood or that deep, seething frustration that he can’t get out, no matter what he tries.

Dimitri’s grasp on his wrist was gentle, for his standards, even though it seemed like an instinctive motion.

He hates that, too.

“Are you sure?” Dimitri would ask back then, eyeing the practice sword suspiciously. “I’m pretty strong. What if I hurt you?”

Felix would pout at him and wave his own sword around. “That’s the point! Don’t go easy on me. I can totally beat you! Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you to spar.”

And he never did go easy on him. Not then, not at the monastery, not now. In battle, that is.

He knows Dimitri as clumsy and struggling with his own physical strength, trying to keep it in check but forgetting sometimes just _how_ strong he is, thanks to his bloodline more so than anything. Recently he’s been getting better at not accidentally breaking weapons during training, which is more than he can say about how things used to be, so he’s been improving with that.

And it’s been bleeding into his daily life, if earlier was any indication.

Felix hates it because it makes him feel like he’s some fragile doll that needs to be treated carefully when he’s anything but. The thought that Dimitri of all people would do that …

The feeling in his gut upon it is familiar, yet unknown. He doesn’t really know what it’s supposed to be, and that’s exactly the part he hates about it, he thinks. It’s bad enough not understanding other people. Now he can’t even understand himself.

There are few times when he’d admit even to himself that he wishes Sylvain was here, but right now is one of them. He always seemed to get him in a way few others do, putting in words what Felix can’t. Sometimes it’s aggravating. Sometimes it’s exactly what he needs to hear. Having a coherent description of _anything_ right now would be of great help.

But Sylvain isn’t here, and there’s nobody else he can really talk to. The only one he’s somewhat familiar with is Dedue, and they’re nowhere near close enough for that sort of conversation. Plus, while you can find Dimitri without Dedue, it’s a lot more difficult to find Dedue without Dimitri. That’s a no-go either way.

He breathes in and out slowly and carefully, once, twice, then shakes his head. “Why am I even considering this? It’ll be fine.”

The words echo through the bathing room, ringing hollow even to his own ears.

* * *

On the evening of their fifth day at the castle, a welcome visitor arrives.

Dimitri is in his room reading when he hears the knock, and Dedue enters as soon as he says “come in”. The look on his face would seem calm to most other people, but Dimitri can tell his eyes are opened wider than usual and he’s fighting back a smile.

“Your Majesty,” Dedue says and bows, something he’s given up on trying to tell him not to do. “Somebody is here for you.”

Judging by his friend’s enthusiasm, it has to be a pleasant person. Someone from their old class, perhaps? Though he feels that they would have announced themselves, unless …

Somehow he has a feeling he knows exactly who it is based on the fact that they did not.

“Thank you,” he says and stands up. “In the entrance hall?”

“Yes. They said not to tell you who they are.”

Yes, that definitely sounds like …

The bedrooms are on the second floor, but relatively close to the entrance hall, so he gets there quickly to confirm his suspicions – and indeed, a familiar face is waiting there, grinning at him until he can close the distance.

“Sylvain!”

His friend bows too low, and unlike Dedue’s earlier motion it seems like more of a mockery, something that few others would have dared to do in front of the king. In this certain scenario, the king just happens to also be a childhood friend, so it’s a different matter. Well, Ingrid probably would be more sincere about it, and Felix would not bother bowing at all, or even saying hello for that matter, but that kind of makes him appreciate Sylvain all the more.

“Long time no see, Your Majesty!”

“Only a couple of months. What are you doing here? I do not recall anyone inviting you.”

Sylvain frowns at him, but that, too, seems mocking. “You wound me! I was just in the area, so I figured I could drop by. And now that you’re here, I’m sure you can also explain that to the grim-looking guard over there who threatened to throw me out. Even though he should know who I am … I think he’s just mad at me for flirting with his partner.”

“Have you considered not doing that at all?” He sighs and shakes his head, but the fond smile is adamant about staying on his lips.

“Hey, I can’t deny who I am. And she’s _really_ pretty. Anyway, I already saw Dedue, but Felix is here too, right? As your right-hand man and all. You know where he is? I want to say hello.”

“This is a council, not a backstage event at the opera. Though we are done for the day, so I suppose it could not hurt.” It is a good question though – where _is_ Felix? The last time he saw him was in said meeting an hour ago, but Dimitri went back to his room right afterward and the only other person he has really talked to since then is Dedue.

Truth be told, aside from their coincidental run-ins, he hasn’t been spending a lot of time around Felix to begin with. The air around them has been so tense, and he can’t shake the feeling that Felix is avoiding him. It’s nothing new for him to be blunt and rude, but ever since they came to this castle, he’s been even more abrasive.

Perhaps it’s their old memories reminding him of all the ways Dimitri has changed. He has been feeling the same way, after all – when even the fond memories become painful, knowing that they’re all that is left.

“Bad thing to ask?” Sylvain says, and it sounds less playful than before.

He’s worrying him. That’s the last thing he wants to do.

“No, I was just thinking. I have not actually seen him since the last meeting, but knowing him, he is probably off training somewhere.”

His friend doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t pry any further. “Probably. How long have you guys been here again?”

“Five days. There is a lot to be decided.” It’s tiring, but it has to be done – Faerghus was without a king for too long, and they still have not sorted out everything. Finances in particular are a difficult topic, and one he always thought he was good at until he was faced with actually using the theory he was taught in practice. Just thinking about how to distribute their funds and what to keep in mind when doing so is making his head spin. And that is not even getting into the demands of the lords and how to keep everyone as happy as they can. “Actually, if you have any particular issues you would like us to talk about, do tell me. Everyone is still so busy that getting all the lords together is just not feasible, but in the end, they are the ones overseeing most parts of the country.”

“Yeah, we should probably sit down and talk about that properly. I don’t actually have much time here, I’m just passing through, but maybe I can give you some ideas later. Actually, how about we do that now?”

Now? That’s unlike him. Dimitri knows he has quite a talent for tactics, but this sort of dedication is news to him. “That … Would be convenient. But did you not say you want to see Felix?”

“I can still do that later, and we’ve gotta find him first anyway. Plus, I want to see your room!” His expression lights up again. “This castle is a lot like the one from back then, don’t you think? The one where I broke my arm.”

“It is. My room is a bit different, though. Smaller.” It would still fit all four of them, if they were there. And he could still share the bed with Felix, if he were to ever allow that again.

Dimitri always slept better next to him, but he knows better than to let himself wonder if he still would now.

* * *

He’s breathing heavily, training sword in hand and sweat dripping down his skin, focused solely on the knight in front of him.

She’s not bad for a sparring partner, but nothing in comparison to someone like Ingrid. Even so, Felix knows better than to let his guard down as long as she’s still standing.

Her stance is easy to read though – he has no problem dodging and countering the next swing of her lance, sending her flying to the training hall floor.

Felix darts forward to knock her weapon out of her hand and finish this, but she blocks him with her lance just in time, shoves him back and gets up on her feet again quickly.

“I’m not giving up just yet,” she says with a smile that’s too confident to match her skills.

A small grin sneaks onto his own face when he replies, “I’d hope not.” This is the only person here so far who’s actually given him at least a bit of a challenge, he’s not letting that opportunity go to waste.

In the end, though, he beats her in a couple more minutes.

She stands up and gathers her lance, which has ended up on the other end of the room. “You’re as good as they say. As expected from His Majesty’s partner.”

If she wanted to deliver a final blow to take away from his victory, those words did the trick.

“That’s— I’m not his partner.” He’s _anything_ but his partner. Just because he took up his father’s position of advising the king (even if he’s not doing a lot of advising right now) doesn’t mean they’re anything else. Friends, maybe. Not partners.

“You don’t think so?” She cocks her head with a raised eyebrow. “People say Duke Rodrigue used to call His Majesty, King Lambert that.”

“I’m not my old man and Dimitri isn’t King Lambert.”

The knight shrugs and puts the lance back to the unused weapons. “I suppose not. I’ve heard you two were childhood friends, though.”

What is this, a questioning? When he thought he should talk to someone, he did not mean some knight whose name he doesn’t even know. “That’s none of your business.”

“Speaking of which,” she continues, undeterred, “there was this guy hitting on me earlier who said he was a friend of the king. Do you happen to know him? Tall, red hair, said something about being from House Gautier, but I haven’t been here long enough to know if I can trust him. My partner said he’d kick him out.”

What.

“House Gautier,” Felix repeats slowly.

“Yeah. Ring a bell?”

“Sure does,” he mutters.

The knight sends him a questioning look, then shrugs. “Well, I don’t really care. As long as he’s not a bad guy, that is. I’m off now, let me know if you need a sparring partner again.” And she’s out the door.

Wonderful. Just _wonderful_.

When he wished to talk to Sylvain, he didn’t think he’d actually have the opportunity. It was a fleeting thought, a scenario he didn’t prepare himself for – and now he doesn’t even know what he’d say.

The training hall is empty now save for him. For how long can he keep himself busy with basic exercises without somebody to fight? He’s pretty good at holding out until somebody leaves.

_Running away_, Ingrid nags in his head.

Is this how Dimitri felt, having people who are long gone tell him how he’s doing everything wrong?

“You know what, fuck you,” he declares. “I’m going to talk to Sylvain.”

There’s no answer. Probably because he doesn’t remember any instance of him actually doing what Ingrid told him to. She’d probably be stunned silent if she was actually here.

He was glad for the distraction training provided, and he likes to think his head is a little clearer now.

Time to dive right back into the memories.

* * *

“So what you’re saying is, you want to speak to Count Galatea personally about his territory,” Sylvain says and takes a sip of the tea a maid brought them to Dimitri’s room. “You invited him, right?”

“We did, but he could not make it, and neither could Ingrid.” It’s been an issue for quite some time; while peace has settled in, parts of the kingdom are still overrun with bandits, and the wounds of war have yet to be healed in many cities. The whole reason they are holding these meetings right now was because it was one of the few times the majority of the involved people could reasonably afford to come.

“Not a surprise. We’ve got our hands full too, and our territory’s still better off than theirs, even though we have Sreng to deal with.”

“The situation is less than ideal all across the kingdom, unfortunately. And with the continent being unified now—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he hears the door open behind him.

It’s a testament to the people here that he doesn’t even need to turn around to be fully confident in saying, “You could at least knock, Felix.”

“Trying to teach this guy manners is a lost cause.” Sylvain stands up from his chair swiftly to walk toward his friend with his arms outstretched. “Even so: hello! It’s been a while!”

“Don’t even think about hugging me.”

When Dimitri does finally turn, he can’t help the warm feeling blooming in his chest upon seeing his two childhood friends next to each other. If Ingrid was here, it really would be an all too familiar scene.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Felix says.

Sylvain is quiet for a moment, just stands there looking at him.

“What?”

“That’s something I thought I’d never hear from you, to be honest. I don’t really know what to say, other than that you should probably go see a healer.”

Dimitri only barely manages to turn his laughter into a cough.

“Uh, come in, I guess?” It resembles a question more so than an invitation, and Sylvain’s gestures toward the room look more confused than anything else.

“_Alone._”

Ah. Right. Just because it’s the three of them, nothing really changes. For a small moment there, Dimitri thought everything was fine now and they could chat just like they used to when they were children, until they grew so tired they fell asleep mid-conversation. Waking up the next morning to Sylvain complaining about his back hurting from sleeping on the chair, and Felix clinging to Dimitri if he wasn’t on the floor somewhere.

But those days are long gone.

(Somehow, he feels colder all of a sudden.)

Sylvain glances at Dimitri and then looks back at Felix. “Sure, but we’re kinda busy right now talking about politics and stuff. Can we meet later? I don’t have much time though.”

“Later, then. Come by my room and tell me when you have time.” And without another word, he leaves, only closing the door behind him.

Sylvain looks at it for a moment before pointing at it and leaning toward Dimitri, mumbling in unnecessary secrecy, “That kind of icy atmosphere was about what I expected from how sad you were looking earlier. Why, though? I though you two had reconciled.”

“We have,” Dimitri replies, but it sounds more like a sigh. “I suppose working together when times are peaceful is harder than relying on each other in battle. It is as if … We both have more time to think now.”

“And you’re afraid the thing Felix is thinking about is how actually you kind of suck after all?”

While he wouldn’t have put it exactly like _that_ … It summarises his feelings more neatly than anything he could have ever phrased himself. “Yes.”

“He doesn’t,” Sylvain states without hesitation.

Dimitri blinks. “That … Is calming to hear, but how are you so certain?”

“I know how Felix gets when avoiding someone because he hates them, and this isn’t it. He’s not the type to pretend like everything’s fine because he thinks he has to. If he has a problem with you, he’ll tell you straight.”

Sylvain can just say it like that, without worrying about anything. That fact itself makes for a unique sting unlike any other. It’s like there’s so many walls between himself and Felix, even after everything.

But in the same way, he is grateful for his friend being here. “Do you think you know why he is … Being like this, then?”

“Nope,” he says and shrugs. “And he probably doesn’t either. It’s up to you to be honest and talk to him, otherwise neither of you will ever find out.”

“That sounds surprisingly reasonable, coming from you.” Dimitri laughs quietly and shakes his head. “But what should I say to him?”

“Okay, so, start with ‘hello’, and then ‘I have something to say.”

“Then say it,” Dimitri mutters in his best Felix impression, making Sylvain snort in the process before he continues.

“And then you say – and you should write this one down so you don’t forget – ‘I have been in love with you s—”

“Hold on. Hold on!” He raises his hands to slow him down, even though he cannot really follow him to begin with. “That is not what this is about.”

Sylvain frowns. “Wait, it isn’t?”

‘No!’ he wants to say. It would be so easy, too. Two simple letters.

“I don’t know,” is what comes out instead.

“Because … You don’t know if you’re in love with him or you don’t know if that’s even relevant?” Sylvain says slowly with a raised eyebrow.

Somehow, his heart beats faster at the suggestion, despite himself, and no matter how hard he tries to reply, he has no words.

Sylvain’s voice drops and his expression turns eerily serious when he says, “Look. Felix is … Difficult, we both know that, and you’re probably still figuring things out yourself. But you can’t tell me you haven’t ever looked at him in that way. I know both of you too well for that, Dima.”

It’s a name he hasn’t been called by anyone in a long time.

Before they were mature enough to understand why you should refer to royalty by their title, even if you know them well, it was a nickname Sylvain and Felix used to give him. Ingrid never did, insisting that being so friendly with the next in line to the throne was disrespectful, but even she called him ‘Dimitri’ back then, rather than ‘Your Highness’.

At the time when he still heard the name regularly, he often found himself wondering why it felt so strange when Sylvain mocked them as if they were a couple, or why he was so happy when Felix insisted to spend time with him no matter what (much to Rodrigue’s chagrin). He has figured out, of course, that he most likely had feelings for him.

This doesn’t feel the same way.

But it doesn’t feel like it does with his friends, either. Even Dedue, the person he is closest to, is nothing like this. Sometimes he wonders if his feelings for his friend really have faded – or if they have changed into something more.

So much has happened, it’s nearly impossible to tell.

Even if he was, though, or if he wasn’t – would that change anything? Whether he cares about Felix because he’s his treasured friend or because he is in love with him really has no bearing on the situation. And yet, if there are subconscious feelings he’s buried deep inside his heart, is that the reason why he can’t just talk to him normally?

The answer he finally settles on is, “Both.”

Sylvain looks at him with a puzzled expression. “I don’t really get it, but okay. Honestly, I only said we should do this now because I wanted an opportunity to pry, but now I’m more confused than before … Let’s move this to sometime else and go over all the points we were meaning to talk about, and then I guess I’m questioning Felix anyway.”

“Please don’t do anything rash,” Dimitri says, but knowing Sylvain, his words might fall upon deaf ears.

That, too, is comforting in a way.

* * *

Sylvain shows up at Felix’s doorstep about an hour later.

He’d like to say he only noticed the time by coincidence, but in truth, Felix has been checking the clock over and over again, waiting for his friend to come by. It only serves to remind him how desperate he is, or maybe how scared, as he’s not really sure whether he wanted him to arrive faster or not at all.

But he’s here now, not even waiting for Felix to open the door and just coming in right after knocking.

“I thought Dimitri’s room would be bigger than yours,” he remarks and looks around. “No special treatment for the king, huh? Sounds like he downgraded.”

“What do you want?”

“Hey, you were the one who told me to come over, so here I am. Would have been sooner, but you know how politics get …”

“I don’t.” He’s only on the council because he has to be. Most of the time he’s busy trying not to fall asleep while people who are better at diplomacy than him do all the talking. If it was a war council, maybe he’d have something to say, but he trusts Dimitri enough at least to not screw over House Fraldarius even if he doesn’t pay attention.

“See, that’s your problem. Your attitude. Anyway …” Sylvain lets himself drop onto a chair and gestures for him to do the same thing.

Felix stays standing.

“What did you want to talk to me about? If you’re asking, it’s got to be something bad. I’d say you’re trying to better yourself as a person, but I don’t have _that_ much faith in you.”

He debates with himself for a second whether he wants to punch him, but decides that it’d just be proving him right, so it’s not worth it.

Instead, he takes a moment to shuffle through the thoughts in his head. None of them are particularly coherent and most of them don’t make sense at all, so he has absolutely no idea how to begin.

Turns out he takes so long that Sylvain does it for him. “This is about Dimitri, I can tell that much.”

“How?” slips out of his mouth before he has any time to come up with something better. Doing that is unknown territory anyway, he’s used to just saying whatever’s on his mind. Might as well do this here.

“You’re avoiding him again and it’s making him think that you hate him. Which you don’t. You really, really don’t.” He says it like he knows it for certain, and it pisses Felix off immensely.

“What if I do?”

Sylvain sighs. “No, I mean, you definitely don’t. But you used to. Or rather, you used to hate the person you thought he’d become.”

“If that’s what you want to believe.”

He shows no signs of having even hard that retort, or, if he did, paid it any mind. “You two used to be so close, and then the Tragedy happened. We all saw how Dimitri got after that, so I don’t really fault you for it, although I do think you were too harsh about it. And now you don’t know how to deal with the fact that he’s still that good person on the inside, but has changed in other ways.”

“Are you … Telling me how I’m feeling like you know it better than I do?”

“Isn’t that why you wanted to talk to me?” A smug smile appears on his face, and the worst part is that that bastard is _right_. That’s exactly what he was thinking when he was wishing for Sylvain to show up.

Like hell is he going to admit it, though. “As if. Stop assuming.”

Sylvain turns his head to look out of the window pensively, and Felix has no idea if he’s doing it to be dramatic or because he really is thinking.

“What?” he asks when his friend doesn’t say anything for a while.

“I said this to Dimitri earlier, but this castle is a lot like the one where I broke my arm. In the kitchen, with the cookies. Those were the days, huh …” His smile turns softer, more melancholic. “I miss them too, you know.”

He feels himself relaxing a little despite himself and turns to look out the window himself. Snow is steadily falling, peacefully so. Was it snowing back then, too? They were always too busy with other things to care. “That’s all over. No point in reminiscing about something we can never go back to.”

“I think we could, actually,” Sylvain says.

“We’ve all changed.”

“You really don’t think we couldn’t be like that again given the time, if only for a day?”

When he turns back to look at his friend, he’s staring at him with the kind of sincerity that’s always made him nervous, and Felix averts his eyes. “Why do you think we could?”

“Because we’re all friends. We’re not children anymore, but memories aren’t useless. They connect all of us, no matter how hard you try to deny that.”

“Stop with that nonsense. This isn’t some fairy tale where love and friendship is all you need to save the day.”

“You,” Sylvain scoffs and he sees him waving his hands around from his peripheral vision, “sound more like Glenn every day. You complain about Dimitri having changed, but where’s the old Felix who’d come crying to me whenever he had a fight with Dima?” He’s about to snap something back at him, but he doesn’t get that far before Sylvain continues. “Actually, scratch that, that’s totally what you’re doing right now.”

“That—”

“You’re hurting.”

He freezes.

“You’ve been hurting since Duscur, and you have no idea how to deal with that, so you lash out.” His expression is neutral now – no hint of a smile, nor a frown. Just stating things as he thinks they are. “Don’t push him away again. Please. He needed you before the war, and you weren’t there for him because it hurt too much for you to bear. Don’t make the same mistake. I know you’re trying, but you’re still running away.”

Ah. This is exactly what he was afraid of, and exactly what he wanted Sylvain to do.

It feels almost violating, to have his heart and soul ripped open so completely with seemingly no effort at all.

“Running away,” he repeats and his mouth feels dry, forcing out those words almost painfully.

“Seriously, what am I? Your personal counsellor? That ‘your’ includes Dimitri, by the way.” Sylvain stands up from the chair and the moment is broken.

Felix narrows his eyes at him. “Nobody asked you to be that.”

“If I remember correctly, _you_ asked me to be that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get moving again, I’ve already been here for way too long. You go do some good old self-reflection – and I know that’s really hard for you, but do your best – and don’t be too mean to Dima.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “You can be a little mean to Dima, he’s used to it. But don’t overdo it. Also, do you happen to know the name of the knight that was with the guard at the main entrance? She never got around to telling me.”

“_Sylvain_,” Felix growls.

“Alright, fine, I’ll ask someone else. Let’s meet up again soon, it’s weird not getting to talk to you guys all the time. Goodbye!”

He gives him a last wave that Felix doesn’t return before he’s gone.

As soon as the door falls shut, he feels himself stumbling backwards more so than actively doing it and falls onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Honestly, he feels like he’s bleeding out.

But that’s a feeling he can deal with.

* * *

When Dimitri wakes up the next day, he feels cold.

His room should have a decent temperature, and his blanket is warm as it should be for a Faerghus winter night. Even so, he’s freezing.

For a moment he fears he might have caught a cold, but it doesn’t feel like that, either. It’s less the kind of temperature that’s inherently cooler and more so … As if he was expecting to be warmer than he actually is.

He sits up and waits for the feeling to fade.

If this is his first coherent thought of this morning, it does not sound like a good sign of what’s to come for the rest of today.

He shakes his head and gets up and ready for the day, and there is nothing remarkable about his morning routine. Perhaps he just had a dream he couldn’t remember that made him feel strange, or it’s his conversation with Sylvain yesterday that’s still gnawing away at him.

… It is, most likely, the latter, he figures.

When he leaves his room, the first person he meets on the hallway is Felix, and his cheeks heat up involuntarily, although he immediately scolds himself for it internally. It’s not a child’s crush, if it even is _anything_. There is no need to react like it was.

It’s just difficult to get those thoughts out of his head immediately upon seeing him.

“Good morning,” Felix says as he passes by him with a fast step.

“Good m—”

He stops.

Felix stops, too, turning around to look at him. “Something wrong?”

“That was the first time since we got here that you’ve greeted me.”

“So? I just felt like it,” he replies in a tone that implies he knows full well how strange this is. “Don’t just stand around like that. The sooner we call in the meeting, the sooner we can finally leave this place. I’m tired of the food here.”

“You did look a lot happier about it at the monastery,” Dimitri muses. “And in Fhirdiad, for that matter. They don’t have cookies in the kitchen, either.”

Felix blinks at him. “You checked?”

“Yes. The kitchen reminded me of that time thirteen years ago, so I got curious.”

He takes a bit longer than usual to answer, “You do that if it matters to you, I don’t care anyway.”

“Since you don’t like sweet food?” He never has. Dimitri supposes it suits his personality better to prefer spicy food.

“Exactly. Now come on or we’ll never finish.” Despite saying that, Felix doesn’t wait for him, only turns back around to hurry down the hallway, and he doubts he’s hoping for him to catch up.

Whatever did Sylvain tell him?

Something in the back of his mind whispers that maybe it was the same thing he told Dimitri.

If he thinks about it that way … In a situation where, no matter his own feelings, Felix was in love with him … What would he do?

He has no name to give to the feeling blooming up in his chest upon that thought. It’s something warm, something soft. Something very much unlike the sweating palms and racing heart of years long past, something that feels more like coming home than anything else.

Dimitri cannot tell what he would do if it was actually the case, but in his mind, if his old friend was to confess to him right then and there …

He’d accept it, he thinks.

* * *

Felix didn’t know that the castle had a terrace until today. He’d just never bothered to check every door.

It’s not big, but it’s built on a cliffside, so he can see the town below him from where he’s standing at the railing, surrounded by a large forest. Snow is draped over the scenery, though it’s stopped actually snowing a while ago. If he was still a child, he’d probably be amazed by this view. Now, he thinks it’s kind of pretty, but that’s about it.

If nothing else, it’s peaceful. It reminds him of his home in a way, where there was a similar view, except he was looking down at a small lake, not a town.

Sylvain’s words from yesterday are still repeating in his head, over and over again. He kind of wants to talk to Dimitri about it, but that’s an even scarier thought – he can talk to Sylvain because Sylvain does all the talking, but he has no idea how he’d even bring this up without him.

So he’s standing here, thinking.

He felt like he needed to get out; even the training hall didn’t feel right today, too small and stuffy, but he really couldn’t find any excuse to go to the town when it’s already dark outside and freezing.

In fact, he’s cold right now. But it means breathing fresh air, so he can deal with it.

_I know you’re trying, but you’re still running away._

He is trying. He’s trying.

There was another time in their past, this one a year after the time they met at the castle.

They weren’t on a terrace, but on a balcony, and they were alone – just him and Dimitri. It was cold much like tonight, but they didn’t want to go inside, as the sky was clear and the stars were sparkling above them. He doesn’t remember the reason they were together, or anything else from that time for that matter, since he spent most of it assisting Glenn in carrying around weapons, but this memory stands out. Everyone else was asleep, but they were watching the stars.

This time, he hears the footsteps before Dimitri stops next to him.

Part of him wants to leave, but he really does not want to go back inside, and he _is_ trying.

“What are you doing here?” he asks anyway, a halfway point between the two.

“I just wanted to watch the stars. I have been here a lot ever since we got to the castle. Did you not know?”

“I don’t follow your every step, if that’s what you mean.” He really had no idea. How would he? He was avoiding him.

Dimitri laughs quietly. “You used to.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

They’re quiet for a while, a heavy, uncomfortable kind of silence, full of unsaid things. If he had anything to say, now would probably be the time. But he’s never been one to fill the silence, let alone with things that hold weight.

Back then, it was about as cold as today, maybe a bit warmer, but Felix’s clothes were far too light for it. Dimitri on the other hand was wearing a warm cloak that was too big on him, much like the cape and the fur he wears today.

When he saw Felix shivering, he …

“Are you cold?”

If the dark doesn’t do enough to hide the blush on his face, he hopes Dimitri at least believes it’s from the temperature.

“I’m fine.”

Dimitri doesn’t sound convinced. “I told you, you should be careful.”

There it is _again_. “Would you stop? I can take care of myself, I don’t need you to baby me.”

“I know. I was just remembering something.”

He’s not looking at him, just staring straight ahead into the distance, but he can hear the stupid fond smile in his voice. It’s annoying. If it keeps up, it’ll make him smile too.

Against his better judgement, he asks, “Remembering what?”

“This is a bit like when we watched the stars at home, when we were children. On the balcony, remember?”

“Faintly,” he lies.

“You were freezing back then, and we ended up sharing my coat.”

And here they are now, recalling the part he’d like to forget the most, even though he knows he never truly will. Sylvain was right in that memories don’t leave you just because you want them to. He was not right in that they’re something precious – most of the time they’re just a pain.

“That’s something only children can do,” Felix says quietly and hopes he gets the hint. If they were to do the same thing today, that would have completely different implications, just like sharing a bed and waking up holding onto each other.

It’s not something he allows himself to think about a lot. If there ever was anything like that between them, it was in the past.

It wouldn’t be possible now.

Because if it was, then …

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear and clings to the railing with his other hand, looking down at the town. He needs to do _something_ with his hands.

“You talked to Sylvain, right?” Dimitri says quietly.

“I did. He just told me to get my shit together, basically.” He can say that, that’s really what it boiled down to. It’s just the how that matters more.

There was that one thing, though, that’s been standing out.

He inhales slowly to prepare himself to say it, then exhales again when it feels like a bad idea.

“He is a lot better at this than we are,” Dimitri states.

“Damn right he is. Sometimes I think it’s easier to deal with him when he’s just chasing women.”

“You can only say that because he is not here, currently doing that.” Another moment of quiet laughter, a soft and pleasant sound. So different from how he used to laugh.

He’s always been clumsy with his emotions too, but his laugh used to be brighter, less awkward. It’s like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to laugh, now, after everything.

“Do you think things could have been different if I hadn’t pushed you away?” Felix blurts out.

They’re looking at each other now and suddenly his heart is pounding from just having said it, that thing that’s been gnawing away at him ever since the day Dimitri snapped, that thing he’s been avoiding even considering because it’s too scary to think about. Sylvain spelled it out for him, all his fears, all his regret, and it’s only now that he realises he has lost the race.

There’s nowhere to run if you’re backed into a corner.

“Felix …”

“Stop. Don’t. Don’t …” _Don’t say my name like that._ “Forget it. I wouldn’t have been able to reason with you anyway. There’s no way to rile in a boar.”

He wants to look away, wants to look anywhere but at Dimitri, but his gaze keeps coming back to him anyway, as if something is telling him to look at him, _look at what you’ve done_.

They could be anywhere now and it wouldn’t matter. This snowy terrace. A battlefield. Ailell. None of it matters. It’s always been like this, even when he hated him. The world fades away.

He needs to leave, but he’s frozen in place.

Dimitri raises his hand a little as if he wants to reach out to him, but lowers it again quickly, and somehow that’s what finally makes him snap and take a step forward.

Felix doesn’t know what he was trying to do. Shove him, maybe. Punch him. Intimidate him, at least, even if Dimitri towers over him. In the end, his intentions don’t matter.

He leans against him, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

It’s warm. Soft. Dimitri isn’t wearing his armour right now, so he’s not resting his head on metal at least. This way, it’s easy to forget just who it is he’s way too close to right now.

There’s hands on his back, suddenly, arms wrapped carefully around him, as if afraid to break him. _Stop being so gentle and commit to it_, he wants to say, but no words come out.

Instead, it’s Dimitri who says, slowly, “You saw me for what I was. I don’t blame you for that. I just wished, and maybe it was a selfish wish … That you could have taken my hand when I was reaching out to you, trying to bridge that gap. And if something like that ever happens again …”

“I’ll always be there,” he finishes his sentence.

And that’s really all it is. Whether it was when they were close friends as children, or at the monastery when he could barely stand looking at him, or during the war when he saw nothing of Dimitri’s humanity left in him. Now, too. It was never his choice. As the head of House Fraldarius, he’s always with the king. Sometimes he curses it. Sometimes he doesn’t. But he’s always drawn to Dimitri, no matter what.

He probably has to thank Sylvain (in a roundabout way that doesn’t sound much like gratefulness because he’s not _that_ desperate).

This isn’t like when they were children. Dimitri has never held him like this. As much as he’d like to say he hates it, in truth, he doesn’t ever want to leave. If they could stay like this forever, warm and comfortable, there’s a part of him that thinks he’d like that.

“Promise,” Dimitri says.

“Huh?” He’s completely forgotten what they were talking about. How pathetic. He can’t bring himself to care as much as he’d like.

“That you will always be there.”

“What is this, a marriage proposal?” Felix is the one who said it, but somehow, his own words are embarrassing enough to make him blush.

Dimitri is quiet for a second and in the few heartbeats of his silence, he fears he shouldn’t have said that at all. Breaking the moment is something he’s really good at, after all, and right now, he’d rather do anything but.

But then, he responds, “Maybe.”

Felix stiffens in his hold and raises his head to stare at him. He’s kidding, right? He’s good to be kidding. There’s no way he’s serious. This is a joke. He’s not actually proposing. That’s not how proposing _works_. If he had a ring, and if he wasn’t the king and didn’t need to find a queen and have children to raise as his heir, then—

… Then what?

Dimitri laughs.

He _laughs_, that bastard, properly for the first time, and it’s as bright and wonderful as he remembers, and he thinks that if this was serious, he’d probably say yes.

“I didn’t mean— I was kidding,” he says once he’s calmed down a little, and it’s a testament to how comfortable Felix still feels that he only punches him in the stomach semi-lightly. It doesn’t really do much.

“Don’t say that sort of stuff! It’s weird enough when other people do it, but if it’s you, it’s almost disgusting.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry. “I was just thinking about how …”

“How what?” He enjoys taking what little hope he wasn’t even aware he had and crush it into little pieces?

This feels like the kind of night they’re going to pretend never happened the next day, or at least Felix is, once he’s sealed these feelings up behind as many walls as he needs to. He’s never let himself dream like this. It’s not worth it.

And yet he’s still here, refusing to step away.

“Something Sylvain said to me yesterday.”

“That’s not even a sentence. Get it together.” What in the goddess’s name did Sylvain tell him? That if all else fails, sarcasm is always the answer? Actually, that sounds more like something he picked up from Glenn. “And kick Sylvain from me next time you see him if I haven’t done so first.”

“If I had actually proposed to you when we were children, you would probably have said yes,” Dimitri muses, undeterred.

“Good thing we’re not children anymore, then.” He doesn’t even want to imagine what this would have done to him at the time, and he likes to believe he’s grown since then.

Dimitri makes a strange sound that’s not quite a sigh and not quite another laugh – it’d be endearing if Felix wasn’t mad at him. “My apologies. I probably shouldn’t joke about that.”

Oh, what a _pain_ he is.

His body moves on his own, and suddenly he's pulling Dimitri's head down by his hair and raising up on his toes just enough to kiss him.

By the time he realises what he’s doing, their lips are already pressed together, and it, too, is warm against the freezing night, even if he has no idea if this is even how he’s supposed to do it – but the arms around him are pulling him closer and he’s kissing him back with an intensity Felix should have expected but didn’t.

If having Sylvain spell out his problems to him was like ripping him open, this is like accepting the wound and admitting he should go see a healer.

When he pulls away, he’s breathing heavily and his head is spinning.

“Exactly,” he manages to say, though he’s feeling dizzy and he can’t bring himself to look at anything but Dimitri’s lips. “You shouldn't, if you can’t deal with the consequences.”

(If nothing else, he got his retort out fine.)

“I …” He doesn’t finish whatever he wanted to say, but in the silence that follows, it’s so obvious he’s trying to think of something that Felix can practically hear the gears in his head turning. Guess that’s a victory for him.

“Don’t bother. I was just getting back at you. Do with that whatever you will.” Years of practicing the high art of sarcasm alongside the sword are paying off now; he’s surprised with himself for how well his voice is holding up when the fact that he just kissed Dimitri – his friend, the boar prince, the _king_ – is only just properly registering in his brain and doing a number on his heart in the process.

As much as he’d like to stay …

He needs to get away fast before he starts regretting it right here and now, and that’s not a sight he’d want anyone to see, least of all the person who’s to blame for this whole mess.

So he pushes Dimitri away and turns around, running away once more with a mumbled “good night”.

* * *

If he had any doubts about being in love with Felix, they have all disappeared.

Tonight, the reason Dimitri lies awake is because his mind keeps replaying that moment like it’s rehearsing for a play – the forcefulness of Felix’s hand in his hair, the softness of his lips, the implications of all of it that he still has no idea how to reply to – it’s not a situation he would have ever thought to find himself in, but here he is, played like a fool by his own heart. Not that it would be the first time.

All he was hoping for approaching him on the terrace was a friendly conversation.

What he got was something he didn’t even know he’d been craving, but also the question of whether this is going to go anywhere. What does ‘Do with it whatever you will?’ even mean? It’s Felix, so it could be anything.

And he was so beautiful like that, even in the dark of night. Pale skin framed by dark hair, each breath creating a little white cloud, and an almost impossible amount of vulnerability in those familiar brown eyes. He’s always thought Felix was good-looking. Pretty, even. In rare cases, beautiful – in battle, mostly, like he was born to hold a sword. Not like this. Never like this.

He doesn’t get any sleep.

Instead, the sun rises before he gets a single minute of rest, and it is not exactly the first time this happened, but it is the first time it was for a pleasant reason, as pleasant as that uncertainty can get. He will gladly take that over the voices of the dead or the nightmares of battles he still can’t forget, though, and despite his lack of rest, he finds himself feeling lighter in the morning.

They don’t run into each other in the hallway today, but he does find Felix sitting in the dining hall for breakfast, alone save for the knight on the other side of the table who he thinks may be the one Sylvain was talking about.

(Her name is … Leila, he believes, someone who came here from the former Alliance. She’s asked him to spar before, although he had to turn her down. Are those two friends or are they just sitting together because most other tables are taken?)

Dimitri wonders for a second if it would be okay to sit down next to Felix, but it stops even being a question once he looks around. No other free seats in sight. Even if he wanted to sit somewhere else, he would likely not be able to.

“Good morning,” he says when he sits down.

Leila sits up straight and bows her head. “Good morning, Your Majesty! Do you need anything?”

Felix only glances at him before looking back at his bread. “Good morning, you look terrible. Don’t tell me to go to bed when you can’t get any rest yourself. Also, Dedue told me that you should come to the library once you’re done here. Something about some records he thought looked weird.”

“I do not, but thank you,” Dimitri says to Leila and sits down, not without noticing that Felix looks equally as tired.

This way, it feels a little like they’re at the monastery again, sitting across from the professor, as he’s trying to make conversation and Felix is quiet for most of it, except the occasional snide remark.

He’d like to think they’ve come a long way since then.

Eventually, he does settle into a similar rhythm though, making small talk with Leila while Felix comments on it every so often, and he’s not sure if he finds it comforting or worrying. She’s engaging enough to talk to, though, that it’s only when she excuses herself that he realises he’s been here for half an hour when all he wanted to do was eat breakfast.

He shouldn’t leave Dedue waiting like this.

It seems they’re going to pretend last night didn’t happen, though, and that does not sit right with him at all. Not just the kiss, but also that it was the first time he felt like Felix was truly honest with him about everything. That’s not something he wants to just … Forget.

“Felix—”

“Don’t start a heart-to-heart in a crowded dining hall when neither of us got enough sleep,” he groans and stands up. “Come to my room later or something.”

When he’s the last one sitting at the table, left alone once more, Dimitri wonders why he had to fall in love with someone this hard to get ahold of.

* * *

Felix has been living in a state of barely contained anxiety for this past day and night.

He thinks that, council-wise, they’ve finally gone over pretty much everything they wanted to and are likely going to wrap up in a day or so, but he’s not certain on it, because he spent most of the time trying not to stare at Dimitri and not to think about how he pretty much invited him to his room where he’ll definitely end up cornered again, to varying degrees of success. If anyone were to ask him what important topics they talked about today, he’d be drawing a blank.

(He semi-seriously considered faking a letter from someone back in the Fraldarius territory to have an excuse to leave the castle right this instant, just in case.)

Despite that, he’s actually here, in his room, like an idiot. He _would_ hide in the training hall, but Dimitri would probably find him there, and he can’t risk even running into him. Ever, if he has anything to say about it.

At least Dimitri has the decency to wait after knocking, unlike Sylvain, who just barged in.

He has half a mind to just throw him out after all, but he can’t do that without hurting his own pride. Just as he thought, he’s backed himself into a corner with this. Sometimes it feels like he subconsciously wants to. But that would need to be really subconscious, because not ever would he let this happen if he had any integrity left. Most of the time, he can convince himself that he does. Right now is not most of the time.

So he opens the door and braces himself for – what, exactly?

Seeing Dimitri, this big, broad-shouldered, intimidating guy with an eyepatch who has murdered many, many people standing at his doorstep to talk about _feelings_ of all things is kind of a comical scene. It reminds him that he’s been acting equally ridiculous, and helps him feel at ease somewhat.

“I didn’t think you would actually be here,” Dimitri says.

“Of course I’m here, where else am I supposed to be?” Felix asks dryly as if he wasn’t thinking about going into hiding or even leaving this place altogether earlier. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean he needs to tell him that.

“Truth be told, I was prepared to look for you around the castle and give up after a while when it seems you are avoiding me again.” He moves away to let him in, and, much like Sylvain, the first thing Dimitri does is look around his room. “I knew they said there was no difference in rooms, but I somehow expected this to be smaller.”

“What’s with you all and thinking I deserve less than you? You’ve been in Dedue’s room, right? That’s the exact same too.” Or so he thinks. Maybe Dedue’s room is actually a glorified storage closet. Or a ballroom. It could be anything. He’s had no reason to go to Dedue’s room.

“I know. I might just be thinking this because our room was bigger, back then.”

“We’ve been over this. Then is then, and now is now.” Even if it feels like the two times are falling apart and their remains are merging together into something he neither recognises nor has forgotten.

Dimitri smiles, but it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at him. “You’re right. And now is …”

“Now is what?”

“What indeed.”

He suddenly feels like he can’t keep standing, so he sits down on his bed, but that’s just making Dimitri look all the taller. He hates looking up at him enough as it is. Why did he have to grow so much?

“Sit down,” he orders him.

It’s impossible to not feel a little smug about it when he complies. The bedside is higher than the chairs, so the height difference doesn’t seem as drastic anymore.

He’s making an effort not to look at him, but can’t help sneaking a few gazes. Dimitri is looking away, too, staring at the carpet instead. Neither of them is saying a word.

This isn’t going anywhere.

“If you don’t have anything to tell me, leave,” Felix says.

There are a couple of things he wants to hear, and he’s gone far enough to admit to himself that about half of them would double as a confession of love. He kissed him back, after all.

Maybe he would have heard them already if Felix wasn’t such a damn coward, running away once more immediately after the fact.

He’s about to think Dimitri is never going to answer, and on the way of preparing himself to just walk out, when he finally hears him say, “Did you mean it?”

Did he?

If there’s any way left to pretend to himself he didn’t, he can’t find it. Yes, he did. Of course he did. He’s not Sylvain, he doesn’t go around kissing people without being emotionally invested. Even if it’s Dimitri. _Especially_ if it’s Dimitri.

“I did say I’ll always be there,” he says. “I’ve made peace with that fact long ago. I’d think you know me better than to believe I’d … I’d kiss you in spite of that when I don’t mean it.”

“Well, it _is_ you. Getting caught up in the moment and doing something you’ll regret later does sound like something you would do,” Dimitri replies obnoxiously quickly, as if he doesn’t actually care.

Is this his tactic of getting Felix to kiss him?

Because it’s working.

He’s up and on Dimitri’s lap in record speed, and this time the kiss is lighter, faster, not lingering for too long lest he loses himself, even if some part of him wants to.

But giving it up quickly is a fine price to pay for getting to say, “There. Not caught up in the moment now. Do I have to do this every time you say something that pisses me off? In that case, I’ll never stop.”

He holds eye contact for approximately a second and a half before he has to look away again, instead opting to rest his head on Dimitri’s shoulder.

“Are you sure?” It’s almost a whisper, almost a plea, three words that hide so many more.

Felix has never been good at reading people, but he understands this much at least.

There was a time when he considered him his best friend, and a time when he hated the person he’d become. Right now, he doesn’t know exactly what they are, but if it’s them, they can figure it out, just like before.

This castle is packed with memories, but it’s not the same castle.

“I’m sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! also who came up with Fraldarddyd as a ship name I just wanna talk (about how I love it and how once you get used to saying it out loud it sounds so much prettier than Dimilix ever could)
> 
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